


Stillness

by BibliovoreOrc



Category: Magic: The Gathering (Card Game)
Genre: Fantasy, Gen, Regatha (Magic: The Gathering)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:55:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23233582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BibliovoreOrc/pseuds/BibliovoreOrc
Summary: Chandra Nalaar has many strengths, but patience is not among them. Mother Luti promises to answer one of her many questions, but only if she passes a test.
Kudos: 7





	Stillness

She sat – legs folded, palms open, eyes closed – in the pose Mother Luti had taught her, atop a tree stump which was exactly too small to be comfortable. Chandra’s backside hurt where the edge of the stump dug into her. She shifted her weight forward, but that only transferred the discomfort to the underside of her thighs. Her back ached from the strain of trying to sit still. Every muscle in her body was tense, which she rather supposed was opposite the point of the exercise.

Chandra managed to hold her balance for another minute, before the pain digging into her legs was too much, and – with a muffled curse – she broke pose. Rocking unglamorously from side to side, she stuck her hands beneath her backside, and sat on those for a while. It had the effect of relieving some pressure, which was nice enough while it lasted, but – within a minute or two – she began to feel the dull, aching throb in her fingers which presaged lack of circulation, and, as the pain progressed from throbbing to burning and then back to pins-and-needles, Chandra swore again and – with another ungainly fidget – she got her hands back out from beneath her, and restored them atop her crossed legs.

From across the courtyard, she heard a familiar laugh.

“If I haven’t succeeded in expanding your mind,” Mother Luti said, “then at least I’ve expanded your vocabulary.”

Chandra had to admit this was true. Regathan profanity was spoiled for choice, and Mother Luti was unmatched in its employment – especially when an adept disappointed her, which Chandra frequently did. In fact, Chandra had been cursed at so frequently and so eloquently since her arrival at Keral Keep that the student had become a master in her own right when it came to the local idiom. Still, she rolled her eyes at the Mother’s comment.

“I saw that,” Mother Luti said.

Chandra opened her eyes, and was unsurprised to find that the Mother was not even looking. Instead, the Abbess of Keral Keep stood with her back to Chandra, some twenty paces away, where she was tending her roses with a pair of tiny shears.

The Abbess, Chandra had long since discovered, seemed to have eyes in the back of her head – and everywhere else, besides.

“If I bet you couldn’t go half a bell without fidgeting,” the Mother said, bending down to snip a branch, “do you think I’d win my bet?”

“Very funny,” Chandra said, squirming atop the too-small stump. Her nose itched, but she didn’t dare scratch it. “You know,” the planeswalker said, “I think you make up half these ‘rituals,’ just to punish me for not following rules.”

Mother Luti laughed again – a low, dry laugh.

“If that’s the case, then it’s clearly not working,” she said.

They were in the walled garden behind the dispensary, where the apothecary grew herbs for her poultices, and the Abbess tended to her roses. Chandra had never seen the point in that – Mother Luti’s roses were ungainly, brambly things – all thorn and no blossom – which flowered at most twice a year. Their petals – when they did bloom – were a dull, ochre red, and served mainly as forage for aphids. Still, Mother Luti tended to her trellises with all the patience of a gardener, which she very decidedly was not.

The other adepts were all at their exercises, either training up the mountain with their tutors, or sparring in pairs in the yard. Chandra – who had overslept, and been late for morningsong – had been pulled aside by the Abbess, who had shooed the apothecary out of her garden, and then planted Chandra on the stump. The ash that had once stood there had been cut straight across, as if by an ax, yet its stump was all blackened and burned.

“Lava ax?” Chandra said, shifting her weight on the stump, so that her legs got a reprieve, at the expense of her back.

“Uh-huh,” Mother Luti said, pruning a branch.

“Will I ever learn how to do that?” Chandra said.

“Uh-huh,” Mother Luti said. Standing on tiptoe, she deadheaded a rose. “Assuming you can be bothered to get out of bed on the morning I decide to teach you.”

Chandra rolled her eyes again. “I was barely even late,” she said.

“Morningsong starts at sunrise,” Mother Luti said.

“I know,” Chandra said.

“Exactly at sunrise,” Mother Luti said.

“I know,” Chandra said.

“And what time did you come down for vespers?” Mother Luti said.

“Maybe not exactly at sunrise,” Chandra admitted. A light breeze swept through the courtyard, and she wobbled on her perch. “But Anaxa was late for morningsong, too,” Chandra hastened to add, “and she still got to go training.”

“Yes,” Mother Luti said. “I know. And should I be asking you why Anaxa was late, too?”

“…maybe not,” Chandra said, trying and failing to keep the rising inflection from her voice.

“No. I thought not,” Mother Luti said. Slipping the pinking shears into her cassock, she took out a bulb mister, and started spraying the aphids. “So maybe now you’ve answered your own question, as to why Anaxa is out with the trainers, whereas you’re keeping me company here.”

Chandra scooched forward on the stump, so that the pain shifted back to her legs. “And what am I supposed to learn from this exercise, exactly?” she said.

“Stillness,” Mother Luti said.

“Stillness?” Chandra said, feeling anything but.

Mother Luti nodded. The courtyard smelled faintly of tobacco, from the pesticide sprayed on the trellis.

“Is stillness important?” Chandra said.

“Stillness of body leads to stillness of mind,” Luti said.

Chandra rolled her eyes, then said, “I know, I know, you saw that,” without waiting for Mother Luti’s reply.

“You see?” Mother Luti said. “You’re becoming more observant already.”

Chandra’s legs were going numb. She scooted backwards, transferring the worst of the pain to her butt. “If sitting on this stump is supposed to teach me stillness,” Chandra said, “then I don’t think it’s working. I could balance on one leg easier than I could sit on this thing.”

The bulb mister stopped puffing, and Chandra saw Luti grin. “Who told you you had to sit?” was all the Abbess said.

“You did,” Chandra said, reddening.

“Did I?” Luti said, and went back to spraying. “Tell me, what exactly did I say?”

In her head, Chandra replayed the events of the morning. Mother Luti had brought her to the garden, and then, pointing to the burnt-out stump, had said simply: “Please take the lotus position.”

Chandra groaned inwardly.

Then, hoisting herself to her feet, she transferred from the seated lotus to the standing lotus.

“That does seem more practical,” Mother Luti said, as Chandra folded her arms and reclosed her eyes.

Under her breath, Chandra swore.

“There’s that vocabulary again,” the Abbess said, and Chandra resisted the urge to comment. Instead, she exhaled deeply, and tried to focus her mind.

For a moment, she was acutely aware of all her surroundings, and the sensations they caused in her body. She felt the warm winter sun on her face, smelled the tobacco in the thin, mountain air, heard the rustling of leaves in the breeze. Her legs and backside both smarted, and her muscles felt tied-up in knots. Somewhere a bee was buzzing, and Chandra silently willed it back to the apiary, and away from the puffing bulb mister, which wheezed and coughed every couple of heartbeats.

Then – slowly, silently – those sensations all faded away, and Chandra focused on one single, solitary stimulus: the puffing sound of the Abbess’s mister. Chandra focused all her mind on the mister’s rhythmic inhale and exhale, and, without consciously meaning to do so, she soon found that her own breathing had grown slower and deeper, and fallen into sync with the bulb mister’s pace. Now her heartbeat, too, slowed to match, until the only movement in Chandra’s whole world was the slow rising and falling of her own chest, and the only sound was the soft, steady thump of her heart.

And, for that one moment in time – standing atop the old, burnt-out stump, in the garden amidst Luti’s roses – Chandra felt perfectly present, and still.

* * *

Later, after what felt like a long time – Chandra couldn’t tell how long – Luti’s voice cut through the stillness. “You can get down now,” it said.

Chandra started, and blinked, and the sudden rush of sensation back into her body was so overwhelming that she nearly toppled off the stump. Her eyes shot wide open, and she put out her arms to steady herself, only to feel strong hands grip her by the back of her shoulders, and help her to maintain her balance.

“Woah, there,” Mother Luti’s voice said, as she held Chandra steady. “Take a moment to breathe. Count to three, find your center, and breathe.”

Heart racing, Chandra did as she was told. She counted slowly to three, and took the same number of deep, matching breaths.

“Coming back from the stillness can be more startling than going in,” Mother Luti said, calmingly. “But you get used to it over time.”

Chandra’s legs felt ropey beneath her, and Luti had to help hold her weight as she stepped down off of the stump.

“How long was I out?” Chandra said dully, as she sank to the ground. Without really meaning to, she sat and crossed her legs, assuming the seated lotus position. The worn stones of the garden path felt cool beneath her skin, and her voice sounded strange in her ears, as though it had come from someplace far away.

“You’ve been standing all day,” Luti said. “They just rang for evensong – from which you’re excused, by the way.”

Chandra blinked her eyes again as – slowly, groggily – the world around her resolved and took form. She was startled to find that the sun had indeed gone down, and to hearing the evening bell ring from the cloister.

Chandra opened her mouth to speak, only no words came out. Behind her, she heard Luti’s chuckle.

“Yes, I know,” was all the Abbess said.

“Could I do that again?” Chandra eventually managed to stammer. “Could I do that any time I want?”

“I don’t see why not,” Luti said, “now that you’ve learnt how.”

Chandra shivered, but not from the chill.

The Abbess offered her hand, and Chandra stood up.

“Alright,” Luti said. “Ask me your question.”

It took Chandra a second, but she soon got Luti’s meaning – it was an agreement she and the Abbess had. For reasons Luti had never made clear – and about which Chandra never openly asked – the Abbess had taken a peculiar interest in her newest student. She seemed to hold Chandra to a different standard than the rest of the adepts – a regimen of special attention at which Chandra openly bridled, even while she inwardly thrilled – and, in exchange for this exacting treatment – which had made Chandra new few friends among her peers – the Mother had afforded Chandra one accommodation: for each extra task which Luti set, and which Chandra completed, the young planeswalker was allowed to ask the Abbess a question about the one subject on which she was notably reticent.

“Jaya Ballard,” Chandra said, still breathing heavy. “Was it Jaya Ballard who taught you about stillness?”

At that, Mother Luti laughed.

“No,” the Abbess said. “That was not one of Jaya’s lessons.” She laughed again, which made Chandra feel just a little bit piqued.

“What’s so funny?” Chandra said. “It’s a fair question.”

“It is a fair question,” the Abbess agreed. “But anyone who knew Jaya Ballard would know that stillness was not one of her strengths.” And something about the Mother’s remark made Chandra bristle, without knowing why.

“Then that’s a bit hypocritical of you,” Chandra said. “Isn’t it?”

“Maybe so,” Luti said, and smiled her most infuriating smile. “But then you’re young, and I ought to make some allowance.” The Abbess shrugged her shoulders. “Hypocrisy rankles the young – they think it the worst of all sins. But, as you get older?” She shrugged her shoulders again. “Well, when you’ve lived as long as I have, you’ll come to realize that we’re all of us hypocrites, in one shape or another, and that the real vice is not saying the right thing and doing the wrong thing, but giving up on right and wrong altogether.” Mother Luti smiled again. “After all,” she said, “in order to be a hypocrite, you have to at least know what’s right in the first place, even if you fail to live up to that standard. Such as – for example – if one were to, say, talk Anaxa into breaking curfew, and then to keep her up all night drinking cider, when you know that you both have morningsong the next day.”

_Alright, mom,_ was what Chandra thought.

“Point taken,” was what Chandra said.

“Good,” Mother Luti said, and patted Chandra on the back – a gesture of pseudo-maternal affection which Chandra made a show of trying to dodge, but not really. “So I trust you’ll get some sleep tonight? And that you’ll let Anaxa do the same?”

“Yes, Mother Luti,” Chandra said.

“And what time does morningsong start tomorrow?”

“At sunrise,” Chandra said.

“Exactly at sunrise?”

“Yes,” Chandra said. “Exactly at sunrise.”

The Abbess raised an eyebrow. “And when will I see you at vespers?”

“Exactly at sunrise,” Chandra said.

“Good,” the Abbess said. “Now run along.”

Chandra didn’t wait to be told twice. After a perfunctory bow – which the Abbess returned – she hurried out of the garden back to the cloister, hoping to get to the mess before evensong had finished, and all the good tables were gone.

**Author's Note:**

> Magic: The Gathering and its characters are the property of Wizards of the Coast. This is a transformative work of fanfiction, protected in the United States under the laws of Fair Use.
> 
> All works copyright their respective creators.


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